Super Bowl 2015—what a game! With all the pregame talk about deflated balls and grabbing one's balls, who would have thought that passing the ball would result in so much after-game chatter.

LPR Housewives and Chickendales made the 1000 mile road trip for the big game, an annual tradition that started a few years back. The crew traveled in style as they made their way down to Glendale, Arizona exploring many sites along the way. LPR correspondent, Henny Penny was there to capture the week-long events.

BIG CITY COFFEE Boise, ID: What better place to start the journey and pick up a great cup of joe.

Site seeing at MONUMENT VALLEY

Moonlit selfie at MONUMENT VALLEY

WUPATKI RUINS

GRAND CANYON SKYWALK

Sunset at the GRAND CANYON

DEVIL'S BRIDGE

UNIVERSITY OF PHOENIX STADIUM, Glendale, AZ: Early bird gets the worm

One of the Chickendales gets a last minute gig watching over the footballs. No deflated balls on his watch. Wait—where did all the laces go?

KATY PERRY halftime show—the truth behind the left shark dancer.

And that moment that changed history. . .

What many are calling the worst play-call in Super Bowl history, the interception made by cornerback Malcolm Butler may be one of the greatest. During an interview with Matt Lauer, Coach Pete Carrol admits "It was the worst result of a call ever" a call that would later bring this exhausted coach to tears. One thing that is certain—Super Bowl 2015 was everything you would expect a Super Bowl game to be: entertaining, unpredictable, and a nail-biter!

Egg production has increased significantly since the ladies return and it is apparent—football is still on their minds.

The Housewives look forward to next year's game at Levi's Stadium in Santa Clara, California on Sunday, February 7, 2016.

Read More]]>mona@lepouleroost.com (Mona Oxford-Lyman)Chicken HumorMon, 02 Feb 2015 23:53:15 +0000New Year New You: Don't say I Can't Say I'll Tryhttp://lepouleroost.com/blog/entry/art-inspiration/new-year-new-you-don-t-say-i-can-t-say-i-ll-try
http://lepouleroost.com/blog/entry/art-inspiration/new-year-new-you-don-t-say-i-can-t-say-i-ll-tryAs I look out my studio window this Sunday afternoon I feel an overwhelming sense of blessing and purpose. The New Year is showing promise with exciting possibilities—I can hardly contain myself. I hope as you read this post you are experiencing a similar feeling of promise, and embracing the greatness that you possess.

A few years back when I first started blogging, I created Skinny Chicks' Kitchen—sharing my journey of achieving balance in my life, specifically through eating. As I reminisce about one particular post Breaking Bad: Commit to the Plan I can't help but find myself back at the starting line, as I often do New Years Day—where hope brings new beginnings and second chances.

Last week I attended a funeral for a dear friend and longtime neighbor of mine—her name was Margaret. She was a character: a small petite woman you would find either dressed in her kitchen apron, a large hat and garden gloves, or her Sunday best. She made the best berry pies and she sang a very loud alto at church—a bit off key I might add. She had a strong sense of honesty which sometimes if you weren't prepared could sting just a little bit. When she laughed she did so with gusto and a snort. There was no one quite like Margaret.

At her funeral her grandson Andrew gave a touching address in honor of his grandmother. He mentioned he would often work along side her in the garden or doing odd jobs around their farm. He remembered a saying that Margaret would often share with him: "Don't say I can't, say I'll try". Through his tears Andrew honored Margaret with such a beautiful message, a message I just had to share.

Can you imagine all the amazing things we could accomplish or become if we only tried? This life of ours is a journey filled with learning, growing, stretching, failing and succeeding. As uncomfortable and sometimes discouraging our journey may be, it is at the same time exciting to know the amazing possibilities and opportunities before us—all we have to do is try. I love this quote by Michael Jordan:

I can accept failure, everyone fails at something. But I can't accept not trying.

I look forward to this New Year and all the amazing things I personally will experience. Friends, let's make 2015 significant. Let's show up and be present. Let's try things we've never tried before and fill our lives with meaning and purpose.

Did I ever tell you I smoked under a cherry tree when I was five years old? I am not proud of it but what does a five year old know anyway? I am convinced I was lead astray by my older siblings—that's my story and I am sticking to it! Gosh, I remember like it was yesterday—we found a big carton of cigarettes in my mom's car and sneaked under the big cherry tree at Grandma's and smoked. I thought it was gross—so that was the last time I ever smoked anything. . . until you invited me to share your cherry-flavored cigar. . . a nightly Afghanistan ritual you said. I've got to tell you son, it was like I got a free pass into the boys club. It was probably the first time I ever saw us as two adults. I wasn't your mother. You weren't my son. We were two friends having a moment. I will forever remember how close I felt to you sitting on that rock as you showed me how to smoke my first stogy.

For the past several months I have held my breath—from the time you left for Afghanistan to the moment I knew you were safely home. I have never appreciated three simple words as much as I do these: You. Are. Home. Though the homecoming only lasted a few short days, the peace I felt seeing you healthy and safe goes beyond anything I could ever express in words.

Not long after your return, I received a very special hand-written note from your commanding officer:

I am writing to let you know how proud I am to serve with your son. As his commanding officer I have watched him grow as a leader and person during this deployment. His performance and work ethic earned him a tremendous reputation with our leadership. We could not have accomplished our aviation mission in Southern Afghanistan without him.

I am such a proud mama.

Now you are off on another adventure, learning new things, meeting new people, preparing yourself for even more greatness. Oh the places you will go!

You'll be on your way up!

You'll be seeing great sights!

You'll join the high fliers

who soar to high heights.

You won't lag behind, because you'll have the speed.

You'll pass the whole gang and you'll soon take the lead.

Whenever you fly, you'll be the best of the best.

Whenever you go, you will top all the rest.

And you will—because that is who you are. You are my son and you are an amazing individual.

I look forward to seeing your handsome face. Remember who you are and what you stand for.

Sometimes life gets so busy I can become preoccupied and blind to the subtle beauty around me. But, not today. Today nature grabbed my pant leg and nudged me to pause. To look. To really look and take notice.

The cucumber plants were spilling over the raised garden beds, looking all happy and lovely. As I made my way down cucumber alley I was tickled by the morning dew. I paused to discover the most fascinating tiny water droplets perfectly spaced along the contours of the cucumber leaves.

And then I found this cute little bundle of spooning cucumbers. How precious are these?!

Have you ever had one of those AHA moments? I had one of those today. My moment of brilliance will not cure cancer, nor will it be the answer to world hunger, but by golly—it just might change muffin making forever!

This morning I was making muffins for an event and I wanted them to have a rustic personality. I thought I had some of those fancy muffin liners somewhere in my pantry. Nope. What about the natural parchment paper I used before? Nope—all out. And then it happened. As if an angel came down from the heavens, there they were, sitting all humble and unpretentious—natural coffee filters. Brilliant idea, so I thought—but will they actually work?

The natural coffee filters worked per-fect-ly! For this batch of goodies I used filters for 8-12 cup coffee makers, probably a bit too large for traditional round tins—however they worked great for my rectangular tins and would be the perfect size for those jumbo muffins as well. For traditional sized muffins try using filters for smaller coffee makers—they should work great and save you a lot of money.

What kind of muffin liners do you use to give your baked goodies that special something? We'd love to hear all about it!

It's hard to believe you came into my life 30 YEARS AGO today! I've always wanted to tell you your birth story, so please forgive me if it is layered between a WEE-bit of complaining and small details you would rather have me keep to myself. Don't panic—I promise to keep it G-rated.

You sir, were three weeks late. I felt so fat, and uncomfortable, and we didn't have air conditioning. I remember my contractions started around midnight. I was so HOT that I laid naked by the screen door just to feel a little breeze. I was all set up: I had paper, a pencil a flashlight and a clock, timing and documenting my contractions. At around 4:00AM things started to get serious so I woke up your father. He was never really into style or what he wore, but for some reason he couldn't decide what he wanted to wear to the hospital. "What am I going to wear? What am I going to wear?" I stood in amazement watching him as if I was seeing a Tim Conway skit. Really? You're going to start being fashion conscious at a time like this? THROW SOMETHING ON AND GET IN THE CAR!! Okay—it really wasn't that hostile but I was a bit irritated. While he was getting in touch with his inner diva I decided to wash the dishes.

Soon after, we arrived at the hospital and spent most of the morning getting acquainted with the birthing room. They broke my water at 1:30, gave me a para-cervical at 3:00. and I started pushing at 4:30. You arrived at 5:08PM. There you were, my 8 lb-2oz beautiful baby boy. At that very moment my heart skipped a beat and I have forever been changed.

Fast forward nine days: I was coaching college volleyball at NNC. Since your due date was July 4th I thought it was safe to schedule a Team Camp for the first week of August. What the HECK was I thinking? I hired my friend Heather Forbes, a D1 setter from Arizona State whom I met the previous summer on an Athletes in Action volleyball training tour in Japan. I directed a five-day camp: morning and afternoon sessions with a special setter session in the evenings. Did I mention Heather showed up to camp with a broken arm? Yea, it seems comical looking back. Seeing someone demonstrating the proper technique of setting with a full arm cast was far from technically accurate but she made it work. I could hardly walk from my episiotomy and I was breast feeding! Can you imagine me trying to demonstrate middle blocking transitions while trying to keep a 6" thick pad securely positioned in my post-maternity granny-panties? Not to mention the two huge udders with their own agenda. I laugh about it now—but seriously—it makes me a little exhausted just thinking about it. Not sure how we got it all done but we did. You do what you've got to do.

Fast forward thirty years: I now have grandma arms, age spots and I color my hair. Granny panties are no longer a necessity but a comfort choice. And you my son, went from a newborn to a confident, amazing young man and I swear it happened faster than a blink. These past thirty years have been such a blessing and I thank God for every minute of our journey. If I could, I would order you a huge cake from the local Afghanistan bakery and I would organize a Happy Birthday sing-along with all the troops. But instead I will sit at my computer—all day if I have to—waiting to see your handsome face via Skype.

It's a beautiful 4th of July morning here at the Roost! I can hear Matisse, Mondo and Norton crowing outside as I catch up on some very neglected blog posts.

Well, he's been at it again. That fabulous husband of mine has managed to build me the most amazing raised garden beds! And to think just one year ago as Jack was recovering from his surgery in California, our garden became consumed with weeds. Being away from home for over six weeks last summer motivated our decision to build raised garden beds, but it wasn't until the weed issue arose that we got serious about the need to make it happen.

So let me start with the design of our garden. Sometime around 2001 I began designing the layout of the garden by sketching various ideas. I am obsessed with formal gardens to which I blame my former life, living as an Italian Renaissance maiden.

We implemented several of the characteristics of the above design and began shaping the garden beds. Jack built four sections of arbors, and we planted boxwood in triangular patterns to give the garden distinct paths and structure. Dirt was sculpted to create the linear mounds contributing to the formality of the garden.

Don't you just love Google Earth? This gives you an idea of the actual design of the garden.

Fast forward to 2012. What a great year for growing veggies! The garden was so bountiful!

With such a successful garden I was super inspired to plan my garden for 2013. For the first time I grew my own tomatoes, tomatillos and eggplant from seed. I even made my own pots! So you can imagine my disappointment when our garden turned into a jungle of weeds. Just looking at it makes me want to cry. I did find out one interesting fact though: weeds pull quite easily when they are four foot tall.

Having Jack healthy and back in his game is worth every weed I had to pull. This small debacle inspired our decision to move forward on the raised garden bed project.

Not too long after the doctor gave Jack the "go-ahead" he began constructing the planter boxes. Tomatoes (what there were of them) were still growing as he began building around them. This is one of four beds measuring 30' long and 4' wide.

Jack fabricated 120 decorative posts for the planter boxes.

He worked through the winter to construct the boxes. There are 16 total, each 4' wide staggering lengths of 30', 24', 18', and 12'. And if my math is correct, this gives us 1,344 square feet of garden growing bliss!

Time to fill the beds with soil! We hired Whispering Heights Landscape to help us with the project. Mark Blacker and his crew did a great job, filling the planter boxes one wheelbarrow at a time. What a task! We used a special garden mix from Victory Greens, a mixture of 30% compost and 70% top soil. We also had them cover the paths with angled gravel.

Ask me if I am spoiled rotten!

These are kinetic sulptures I purchased at Costco. The pole-support was whimpy so Jack constructed special support posts. I just love how they turned out!

I planted a variety of greens only to find the chickens feasting on them. Jack constructed four hinged netted frames to cover one of the 30' planters; it works perfectly. Long 2x2's support the frame when I need access. I am in heaven!

Sometimes it takes defeat to see the blessing. The construction of the raised beds is providing us with more than just garden bounty and less maintenance—it gave Jack a sense of normalcy and purpose after his surgery. I am so proud of what he has created and so very, very blessed.

It is Father's Day and we are awaiting the birth of your nephew. You should see the father-to-be, he is so anxious for this little guy to arrive! I wish you were here to be with him as he paces the halls, and to share in the blue wrapped cigar. I know you are thinking about your little sister and the birth of her sweet little baby boy. You would be here if you could, and just knowing that warms my heart.

When I was a little girl I dreamed of having a family with a mom, a dad, and siblings who all got along. I imagined my family would come watch my games, cheering for me from the stands. We'd go out for pizza afterwards sitting around the table laughing and discussing plans for our next vacation. But as you know that never happened. Fast forward to today, I celebrate a man in my life who has helped me realize the adult version of my childhood dream. He has been the glue, piecing together all my broken parts. I now have the family I have always dreamed of and I feel so blessed and fortunate.

I love the chorus to Brad Paisley's song He Didn't Have to Be

And then all of a sudden Ah it seemed so strange to me How we went from something's missing To a family Lookin' back all I can say About all the things he did for me Is I hope I'm at least half the dad That he didn't have to be

When I think of the word father, it is his face I see. Remember when he taught you how to shave for the first time and the numerous man-to-man talks you've had? By example he showed you how to be a man of integrity and honor. He walked your sister down the aisle and he will stand at the nursery window in tears when he sees his grandson for the very first time. When he became a part of our lives, he embraced fatherhood without prejudice or inequality. He is the greatest father I have ever known and I am so thankful we have all been blessed by his love.

I miss you and I look forward to seeing your handsome face. Remember who you are and what you stand for.

Do you remember how much you loved watching Emmitt Smith play football? I found an entry in my diary today that you might enjoy reading.

Diary entry: January 25, 1994 (nine years old)

Last night you wrote Emmitt Smith a letter, this is what it said:

Dear Emmitt,

Of all the NFL players you're my favorite. I'm your best fan. I really enjoyed the play off game between Dallas and San Francisco. I liked the two TD's you made. I am nine years old and I am in the third grade. I like to collect sport cards especially football. Every since I was a little kid I wanted to be a pilot. I like school especially recess when I play football. We pretend to be Dallas Cowboys. We fight over who is who. Me and my friend argue who's going to be Emmitt Smith. I wanted to send you my card of you but I was afraid to because it might get lost in the mail. It is my only card of you. Please write back. Well been nice talking to you. Please send me your autograph. Good luck on the Super Bowl. I'll be watching you.

Unfortunately Emmitt never responded to your letter. I know you were disappointed after weeks of checking the mail.

I've always wondered how a successful athlete such as Emmitt Smith transitions gracefully from the height of his fame to life after the crowd stops cheering. I found an article written by LaMar Campbell, former player for the Detroit Lyons who hosts a radio talk show Life After the Game.

As we approach the much anticipated kickoff of another National Football League season, I reflect on the sounds of jets flying overhead, the amazing firework displays, the roar of the crowd, the act of stretching and cracking my neck every time I hear the national anthem, I can't help but feel nostalgic remembering running out on the field in my first kickoff as an NFL player.

As many rookies are getting their taste of regular season NFL football, many veterans are getting ready for their first taste of "life after the game." The transition can be torture for some. For others, it's an identify crisis; a modulation wasteland as these recently unemployed athletes search for any semblance of that passion that fed their drive for so long as they navigate through the climate of change. (read more)

Emmitt Smith did some amazing things in his life: broke records, made lots of money, lived in some amazing real estate. But perhaps one of his greatest achievements was the positive impact he made on little boys like you. Three days before Super Bowl XXXIX in February 2005, he announced his retirement from the NFL. Perhaps as Emmitt looks through his memorabilia and his long forgotten fan mail, he will find the unopened letter you wrote to him almost twenty years ago. I think it will make him smile. Hey—who knows—you might finally get that autograph you asked for.

I miss you and look forward to seeing your handsome face. Remember who you are and what you stand for.

I love you,

Mom

Read More]]>mona@lepouleroost.com (Mona Oxford-Lyman)Dear Son: Letters to a SoldierSun, 01 Jun 2014 15:00:00 +0000Side Tracked: Desk Clutter and the Dancing Commahttp://lepouleroost.com/blog/entry/art-inspiration/side-tracked-desk-clutter-and-the-dancing-comma
http://lepouleroost.com/blog/entry/art-inspiration/side-tracked-desk-clutter-and-the-dancing-commaAs I sit at my computer on this lovely Memorial Day, I am overwhelmed with a long list of To Do's. I really should edit photographs of the newly constructed raised garden beds handsomely displaying the prettiest bunch of salad greens I have ever grown—I am so proud. Or I could write the article showcasing the major transformation at my daughter and her husband's 1910 home project—it was hard work but so rewarding! But no, I have elected to devote my time cleaning my much neglected desk and discuss commas—yes friends, commas.

Since the inception of Le Poule Roost, Jack has been my chief editor. At the beginning he spent a great deal of time proofing my writing but, as of late, editing time has reduced significantly. Either I am becoming a better writer or he is becoming less interested—pause for introspection. When proofing my work, one commonality that arises is the subject of the comma. He and I have had many debates on our little friend. Jack thinks less is more—and I think commas add a bit of dance to a sentence.

As I was cleaning through my piles of clutter, I came across an article Jack so kindly saved for me: Consider the comma, a tool for cadence and clarity. Boise author Kathy McIntosh and I agree, that though the comma may be small in stature, it can be powerful in communicatiion.

"My take? Yes, commas may be thrown about too freely by some and like the superflous branches on my rose bush, benefit from pruning. However, I maintain they have a valuable purpose when used to clarify and add grace and rhythm to our writing." Kathy McIntosh, Boise author and freelance editor. Owner of A Well-Placed Word

So friends, as you read through my posts, value the comma as it dances across the page—it will be a reminder of the personal joy I receive while sharing my thoughts with you. Wait—I think I hear music playing.